


Vigilante Cover

by DagReaper (TyJaxDrax)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Injured Oliver Queen, apartment shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 07:58:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10355757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TyJaxDrax/pseuds/DagReaper
Summary: “Why didn’t you call the police. Or an Ambulance,” he almost rolled his eyes at the question. The answer should’ve been obvious. And he knew that this man wasn’t stupid, he hadn’t been caught yet. So, maybe he was being tested.“Because I’m not stupid,” he answered bluntly.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know, but this will be made into a multichapter eventually.

He strode along the alleyway, his hands pocketed and hood up with his hat pulled low over the front of his face. Even though he was in a city he knew he could hide in for a longer period of time, thanks to all the negativity, robbers, gangs, and all the trouble that tended to originate from the Glades, he was safer, hidden from Hydra and Shield and the Avengers. Steve wouldn’t have found him there either. This city covered him, shrouded him, hid him, and he was thankful for that.

Bucky threw his gaze over his shoulder for a moment before he turned the corner, stepping out into the quiet street, abandoned at night. It was dark, not entirely well lit by the lights above, one flickering on the other side of the road.

He’d taken up residence in a low rate apartment building, even made it a safe house. He had the money, having withdrawn a decent amount from Hydra agents he’d taken out over the last year. He had a bag with money, and a bag with his necessities, ready to run if needed.

Bucky strode down the street, already finding his building up ahead, but he stopped, his eyes darting into another alley, narrower than the one he’d just stepped out of. It was dimly lit, only a little bit of light leaking in. There was a dumpster in there, but he was staring at the figure lying against it, panting roughly and seeming hurt, injured. He was hooded, his face covered.

He looked up and down the street, keeping a sharp eye on his surroundings as he cautiously took a step into the alley, his hands unpocketing as he got closer and closer. He noted the hood shift, the man’s head turning awkwardly to see him, making Bucky halt in his steps. He was still panting heavy, seeming to watch him as Bucky stood there, a decent way away. He was definitely injured, the slightly wetter parts of his jacket was more than likely blood. There were thin streams coating the leather. He was shot or stabbed, maybe.

Bucky couldn’t call an ambulance. This was clearly the city’s Vigilante. The Green Arrow. Or it was someone pretending to be him. He wasn’t entirely sure. He’d never met the man. This would be the first if it was really him.

Bucky noticed the dropping in his movements, his head lowering like he couldn’t hold it and then his breathing, dropping to the point it made it seem like he fell asleep. He fell unconscious then, blood loss? The pain? He stepped closer, carefully walking through the alley towards the figured. Once he was close enough, he dropped into a crouch, eyeing him over. He was bleeding. There was the contrast of red on deep green, wet and still running.

An ambulance was out of the question. He’d be asked things and if this was really the Green Arrow, then his identity would be ound out and he knew from personal experience that hiding one's identity was important to the person. If everyone found out who the Green Arrow was, it would destroy the Vigilante and what he was trying to do.

He couldn’t call an ambulance and had no idea of who the Arrow’s friends were, his team and who was behind him. He couldn’t be seen with him either. So, what was he meant to do with him? He couldn’t leave him there to die. He more than likely would if he did leave or waited on his team.

Bucky waited a few seconds before letting out a huff, his thoughts leading straight to the opinion of taking him back to his apartment to patch him up, to stitch wounds if he needed to. He knew how to apply first aid and use a needle and thread on himself if he got stabbed or shot. And he knew how to retrieve a bullet from under flesh.

He eyed the Vigilante,  his gaze looking him over before he decided to move him, reaching out to grab at him in the right places before managing to lift him up onto his back. He noted the bow and quiver on the ground below him and he grunted, frowning at the weapons as he carefully reached down and grabbed them. He tried to balance the man on his back and the weight before stepping towards the entrance to the street, thanking the darkness and time of night for the cover.

\----------

Bucky and climbed the fire-escape, using the staircase on the side of the building as his way of getting in. He was more than sure that the Vigilante would’ve been noticed if they’d gone in the front door.

He’d opened his window and climbed in, helping the limp body of the man in after and dragged him over to the sofa, managing to lift him and lie him down easily. He was bigger than him, but not by much. It would be hardly noticeable. He was only a little taller maybe, his shoulders and waist were broader, like he’d trained rigorously over a few years to get the build and shape. The jacket was tight around him, fitted his body, that was how he’d noticed it.

Bucky sighed to himself as he stood over the man, staring at him. He didn’t want to look under the hood, it wasn’t his business. He didn’t care. Instead, he dropped to sit on the edge of the couch, his hands reaching out for the zipper before pulling it down to uncover the thin, fabric shirt beneath. There were holds, though more like scar tears in the shirt. Stabbed. The Vigilante was stabbed.

He unzipped the entire jacket, all the way down and grabbed at the hem of the shirt, dragging it up and away from the wounds. He was slashed at multiple times by the look of it. Bucky pulled back and stood up, deciding on getting a jug of water, towels and his first aid kit. He had a needle and thread in the aid box he’d found in the building.

He was beaten up, really beaten. He had gashes, a few deep cuts, bruises on bruises. He’d assume that he’d been in a ‘to the death’ cage fight if he didn’t know that there weren’t any in the city. He must’ve ran out of arrows and had to fight through hand-to-hand. He’d assume that he wasn’t an amature. He just had a feeling that someone may have got the drop on him and just left him in the alley.

Bucky was sitting on the edge of the sofa, his jacket and hat now gone. He’d bunned his hair and his arms were covered, his advanced prosthetic for a reason. He still wore a glove on it as he poured some alcohol over a few cuts, the liquid sliding over the beaten and scared skin and stream down his side. He’d gotten rid of most of the blood, stitched up a few wounds, the ones that needed it and he was onto covering them up, patching them with gauze and large plasters.

He was still breathing, gasping every now and then as he’d stitched and used the drink to sterilize. He clearly didn’t like it, for obvious reasons.

It was when he saw the shifting, muscles spasming and forearms moving just a tad, that he decided to back off, that he’d done a decent job and the guy wouldn’t die on his sofa. He stood up, grabbing what he’d used and what he hadn’t and then put them on the coffee table, away from the man. He hadn’t looked under his hood, or even thought about it. Again, it wasn’t his damn business.

Bucky sat down in the arm chair across from the sofa, leaning back and resting his head on his hand with his elbow digging into the arm of the old leather. He sat and waited, watching the body, watching the Vigilante shift and start to stir. He was shifting more, his breathing had changed and he was lolling his head slightly, telling him that he was actually waking up.

It took a few minutes, just looking at him as he moved and shifted and woke up, slowly becoming more aware. His body jerked and there was a hiss, a bad move on his part. He was hurt. He noted the way he turned his head a little, the edge of his jacket hanging over the edge of the sofa from where he’d open the leather apart earlier. His head then turned his way and he could see the stubble on his jaw, a little shine in his eye from where the light was in the room. He was watching him, like Bucky was watching the Vigilante.

He was still, his breathing laboured and wheezy. Bucky just sat there, staring with a calculating gaze. He was maybe half curious about the man, but not enough to actually ask anything. He was sure that if he did, the Arrow would ask him something in return, and if he even saw a sliver of his arm or a scar that looked out of place or something that would make him seem odd there would be the question and he didn’t want to answer anything about himself and definitely not to this man. He wouldn’t tell anyone unless there was a good reason, but if this Vigilante knew that the Winter Soldier was in his city, he’d be run out, or have arrows sticking out of him.

He kept his expression blank, not giving anything away as he stayed completely silent, watching the hooded man as he hesitantly drew his own gaze towards his body, looking down at his bare torso and checking himself over. He reached a hand to a white plaster on his side, the touch gentle and soft as he sort of dabbed at it and then snapped his gaze back to him.

“Where am I,” it wasn’t a question, and his voice was deep, rough, gravelly and strained from what he’d instantly assume was pain and grogginess. He’d had the experience more than a few times himself.

“My apartment,” he’s refrained himself from calling it his safehouse, his safezone. That would’ve given something away to the other man. He watched as the Vigilante, reached a hand up to the back of the sofa, his grip tight as he tried to pull himself up.

“Why,” the Arrow strained, both hands on either side of him after he swung his legs off of the cushions and planted his boots on the carpet, now watching him from under his hood. He looked guarded, even though he looked wounded, exhausted. He was still panting, his breaths sounded heavy and hard.

“You’d dead if I left you in the alley,” Bucky pointed out simply, eyeing him carefully. The man was in no shape to move, but he wouldn’t stop him. He’d leave as soon as he could if he were in the same situation.

“You treated me,” he noted the man reach a hand to one of the plasters, one that was covering one of the worse wounds he’d stitched up. He was still hurting, clearly. He was hopeful that he wasn’t allergic to the painkillers he found in the first aid box. “Why,” The Green Arrow asked as Bucky stood up, reaching down to the coffee table and picking up a painkiller pack before tossing it to the cushion beside the man.

“Who are you,” the Vigilante continued, still strained and exhausted. The Soldier strode around to the kitchen area, making sure that he could be seen as he grabbed a glass and filled it with tap water.

“Who are you?” Bucky asked in return, knowing full well that he wouldn’t get the answer. He asked it as a ‘get out of revealing’ card. “A name for a name,” he knew there wouldn’t be an answer for the question, meaning he wouldn’t give his own name. And from the Arrows slightly dropped jaw, the comeback surprised him. His mouth was a little agape, like he’d expected something else.

“You didn’t look?” that was what he must’ve thought before, that Bucky would’ve looked under the leather to see the man behind the mask. He didn’t entirely care. What would be the point? He wanted nothing to do with who the man was. He thought that it was the right thing to help him, something that Steve would’ve done, what _he_ would’ve done before Hydra.

“No. It’s not my place,” he answered honestly, crossing his arms after placing the cup on the table ahead of the man, watching him carefully and closely, calculating him and searching him for any sign of oncoming hostility.

“Any other person would’ve looked under my hood,” the man replied, lowering his head to look at his own wounds again. He didn’t seem pissed or upset, just hurt. And if there was any hostility, he couldn’t exactly fight, not now, not like that. And Bucky could’ve overpowered him easily. Though that’d be a waste to his handiwork. All in all, there was none, so he highly doubted there’d be any kind of fight anyway.

“I’m not any other person,” Bucky replied carefully, still watching him from where he stood, arms crossing back over his chest. He noted how the man stared at the cup and pills, slowly glancing up to him as he stayed back at a safe distance. He just eyed him, the Vigilante watching him with as much caution as Bucky gave. They were analyzing each other, looking for something. He was glad he was still wearing his long-sleeve and glove on his left arm.

“Why didn’t you call the police. Or an Ambulance,” he almost rolled his eyes at the question. The answer should’ve been obvious. And he knew that this man wasn’t stupid, he hadn’t been caught yet. So, maybe he was being tested.

“Because I’m not stupid,” he answered bluntly, arms tightening over his chest. “You’d be thrown in prison either way,” he huffed.

“So you decided to patch me up yourself,” it was a statement. Bucky eyed him closely again, watching him with a sharp stare, not giving anything away with his expression.

“I had some training years ago,” he had an internal debate on whether the man would know if he was lying or not. So he’d gone with an honest answer. Or somewhat honest. He wasn’t trained with it. He was programmed with it, incase he was sent on a solo mission and got shot or something. He could patch himself up afterwards.

“You’re a Soldier,” another statement, and he wasn’t wrong. He’d been a soldier, but he was still a soldier, just a different kind. “Your posture and eyes. You have that look. And your arm. You’re discharged through an injury,” Bucky caught his breath, staying completely silent as he stared intensely at the man. He knew something was wrong with his arm, the glove probably gave it away, but it didn’t seem like he knew who he was. He assumed he was just some discharge war vet.

“I’m not going to talk about the arm,” he typically commented, avoiding the discussion all together. He didn’t want to give away anything about it. “I’d rather talk about how you’re going to call your team to come get you,” at that, the hooded man sat straighter, staring at him from under his mask like he just said his real name or something. Obviously his team was a secret. Bucky just stared back, his posture still solid, but cocking just slightly at the hip. “Like I said, I’m not stupid. You’d have to be someone else when you’re not wearing that gear and playing both would take time and effort. You have people in the dark, working to get you the intel you need to do your job at night,”

He was just being stared at, but not with hostility, more like… reluctant submission. He was quiet, his mouth drawn into a tight line and he was just watching Bucky like he was waiting for something, anything, some kind of explanation or attack maybe. He wasn’t sure.

“Who are you.” came a repeated question, though his tone was more gritty and strained then before. He seemed much more guarded after it, eyeing him like he was a danger, but he wasn’t hostile.

“A guy with experience… are you gonna call your team or not,” he asked with a quiet bite in his tone, watching the hooded man as he stared back with a calculating gaze. It was like he was just trying to find anything now, not just something specific. He was actually trying to find something about him that could give him some kind of information or something that would tell him who he was.

There were a few more moments of silent staring before the Vigilante reached a hand to his ear, a just audible ‘beep’ sounding from his ear before he started talking over it. A com.

“Overwatch- Don’t say my name,” he then called over the muttering he could hear from where he was standing. It was quiet, really quiet, but with his enhanced everything, senses included, he could just about hear a females voice, but not what they said. He’d heard something with a question, maybe asking if he was okay or something. “Yes. Listen, I need a pick up,” there was more chatter, the female voice almost babbling and then the hood stopped her with a quiet ‘where?’ questioned towards Bucky.

“Between Mayne and Accers. It’s a block away,” it was a little safer than anywhere else in this part of town. He hung around the scummier area for more cover. It kept him hidden. And by the expression drop in the hoods face, he was aware of the shit that went down there.

“You hear that,” his tone came over a tad exasperated before a small amount of chatter came back through the com. “Good,” there was another quiet ‘beep’ and then he assumed the com was turned off for the moment. He watched as the hooded man reached a hand behind himself, using the strength he had left to push himself up from the sofa, straining and grunting slightly while trying to stand up.

“Want me to walk you or are you going to limp your way there,” Bucky asked casually, arms still crossed as he watched the man. Once he was eventually up, he panted and eyed him with a deep grunt.

“I’ll be fine,”

“Good,” he replied shortly.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope ya'll enjoyed. Let me know what you thought.
> 
> This will be multichaptered eventually.


End file.
